


Getting Attention [One -Shot]

by jatty



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-07
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-10 17:36:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/788333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/jatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night turned to mindless violence, but maybe the violence was more thought out than Gerard had thought...at least on Frank’s part.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting Attention [One -Shot]

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first Frerard story ever, so I thought it fitting to post it first to this site.

There is more than one way to be drunk, Gerard realized as he sank down the wall in his empty apartment. In one night, he had experienced what he believed to be every possible way and explored whatever slight variations were left in between. 

He didn’t want to think about it—between the waves of the nausea and the heartache, Gerard did not want to have to think about it anymore—but the night was dancing around in his brain.

And he’d promised himself he’d never get like this again…Never end up sitting with his back against his wall and his head held in his hands as he stared at the floor without seeing it, blinded by the foggy and yet somehow vivid images in his head. Never end up hating himself with every ounce of strength he had.

Not _again._

Gerard guessed that the only excuse he had, at least the only one that didn’t involve passing the blame, was that he didn’t see it coming.

It had just started off with a few beers between friends. That’s how it _always_ started.

Frank had invited him and Ray and Mikey over to his apartment to hang out. Then, somewhere in between an unwatched movie, a completely rigged card game, and dinner, the first side effects of the beer they’d been drinking began to show. 

For Gerard, that was the wave of hyperactivity; the kind of drunkenness where everyone loves you because you’re acting hilarious and your behavior is entertaining. 

Some people put lampshades on their heads. Gerard assumed that he’d thought himself better than that. 

Even though he had forgotten everything he knew about dancing—not that he ever really knew anything to begin with—by the first sip of his third bottle, he tried to anyway. A lot of what happened during that phase was a blur of laughter and hysterical smiles.

At some point he’d started trying to hug everyone, telling them that they were loved if they accepted and that he wasn’t going to sing with them anymore if they refused.

Of course, everyone accepted the embraces at first, laughing every time their turn came despite the repetition. All of them were laughing, especially Frank. He was laughing the hardest, hugging back the tightest, and not bothering to scoff at the devious whispers that were being breathed into his ear at a volume audible enough for everyone in the room. 

Even if it was just affection brought on by alcohol, Frank welcomed it as if it were real.

Even as the others began to grow fatigued and the joke wore thin, they returned the hugs when he started making his empty threats. They would, of course, because it was so damned funny. 

It was Mikey who had broken the endless chain. 

_“You_ need _to quit drinking,”_ Mikey had said while he accepted what was probably his twelfth embrace. He’d been laughing as he’d said it, not trying to darken the mood or overreact, but Gerard had acted as if he’d been insulted. 

Gerard didn’t remember what he’d said to his brother, but whatever it had been made Mikey mad enough that he left. 

Gerard sighed heavily and closed his eyes. He should’ve listened to Mikey, but he knew why he didn’t. It was too much fun to stop, and because the _younger_ brother had no right to tell the _older_ what to do.

And why should he stop when Frankie still welcomed his hugs?

Somewhere in the middle of the phase where he was usually coerced to stop drinking, he’d decided to start on a fourth bottle. The last one that he really had count of. 

That led to the kind of drunk where the humor dies because you end up acting ignorant and belligerent.

Gerard leaned his head back against the wall, his eyes still closed. He let his skull smack into the drywall a few times in self-punishment. 

_“Gerard,”_ Ray had said, taking him firmly by the shoulders as he started to pick a fight with Frank—pathetic looking, sad Frankie—for no reason. Ray…always the voice of reason. _“Stop drinking.”_ He’d pronounced each syllable, trying to get the message through. 

It went through, but it was already too late. In response, Gerard had pushed him away—physically. He and Ray had argued, but Ray, _always_ the voice of reason, didn’t waste much of his time. 

Frank had held Gerard back and had spoken in an oddly pleading tone of voice to Ray as he grabbed his coat and opened the door. Ray left, not bothering to slam the door, and Frank placed a distance between himself and Gerard.

Frank had probably been begging Ray not to leave him alone with the drunk. Frank knew what happened when Gerard passed the hyperactivity, the lustfulness, and then the hostility.

After that, there was nowhere else to go except unconsciousness or violence.

God how he wished that he’d passed out instead. 

Frank had been left unprotected with the beast that couldn’t decide if it wanted to sit on the couch next to him or try to wrestle him to the floor and take his clothes off.

Gerard couldn’t remember if he’d been trying to get in Frank’s pants when he threw the first punch or if Frank had just said something that made him angry out of the blue. He tried to remember, but nothing was there; just the sound of his fist hitting Frankie’s beautiful face and Frank’s body hitting the floor.

He wished he’d forgotten hitting him. He wished that he didn’t have to relive each crack, each whimper, each slam…

Twice. 

As if punching Frank’s cheekbone once wasn’t enough, he’d struck him in the face twice. 

Frank! 

He’d punched _Frank!_ Twice! In the _face!_

Gerard gripped his sweaty hair and pulled at it, groaning into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut as if it would lock the memories out.

The same Frank who had accepted every single one of Gerard’s drunken hugs, and had chuckled in that cute, almost girlish way when Gerard had not-so-discretely whispered lusting statements in his ear, had gotten _battered_ in return.

The first punch sent him to the floor with a startled gasp and a grunt of pain, but that hadn’t been payment enough for whatever he’d done. No, Gerard had still felt that he’d needed to draw blood.

He’d stood with his feet on either side of Frank’s body as Frank struggled through disorientation to pull himself back up, and delivered another blow to the same side of his face as before—this time catching his nose. The impact had been strong enough that Frank’s head cracked against the floor.

Gerard didn’t think he’d ever forget that. Not the look of horror in Frankie’s eyes as he saw the fist coming, the cry of pain as it connected, the slam of his head on the hardwood, or the whimper he emitted as he rolled onto his side between Gerard’s feet after the blow.

_“I don’t have to take this from you!”_ Gerard remembered saying. He saw the blood come from Frank’s nose and had felt pleased…but apparently not pleased enough.

He’d still found it necessary to kick the only person he really, truly, deeply cared about before he made his exit. Right in the stomach, only satisfied after Frank had coughed hard and curled into himself, abandoning his attempts to rise up from the floor.

After that, Gerard had left. And then he was home, every distorted memory falling into place and crushing him.

Frank had looked so happy at the start of the night. He’d returned every hug, kissed him on the cheek, even nuzzled his neck while he was being told perverted things. Frankie was so affectionate, even to a drunk. Even when Gerard had started picking fights…even when he knew what would happen if Gerard kept drinking.

Gerard hated himself by the time everything came rushing together. Even if he had been drunk, he still knew better than to hurt Frank. He fucking _loved_ Frank! He was his only love, and yet every time he got drunk past the point of arguing, Frank ended up getting hurt.

Why wasn’t it ever anybody else? 

Why?

Fucking _why?_

Something in his mind told him it was because no one else bothered to stick around… 

( ) ( ) ( )

Once the door had slammed, Frank had gotten up, clutching his stomach in pain and staggering over to his couch where he sat, slowly reclining himself back against the cushions and straightening his abdomen out. His left eye felt as if it were about to explode, and his nose hurt like hell, not to mention the throbbing pain at the back of his skull.

God, why had he bought that much beer when he knew Gerard would try to drink it all? If there was a bottle, he had to drink it until there was none left. He was sick, he couldn’t help it. Frank knew that he shouldn’t have bought so much.

And if he _had_ to buy that much, why didn’t he put some of it away where Gerard wouldn’t see it? Why leave it out in the open? 

Yeah, it was fun to get Gerard a little drunk. It was cute to watch him let go of everything and act like an idiot for a while—act like he did on stage. Letting him keep drinking until he picked a fight with his brother and Ray was irresponsible. It was a sign to hide the remaining bottles while Gerard was occupied with whatever small thing he could find for a moment. 

Frank had had that chance, but he didn’t take it. He let Gerard keep going, and that’s why he let himself get hit.

It wasn’t the first time, and it wasn’t the worst. 

As the pain began subsiding as the night drained away, Frank even found himself humored by it.

The first punch hadn’t even been that hard because “good” Gerard was still in control—he was just releasing his inner child and throwing a tantrum. The second blow, however, was meant to hurt. And the kick? That had been an afterthought, added for effect. 

That was how “bad” Gerard said he was angry because Frank wasn’t going to let him have his way. 

And why hadn’t he? Why didn’t he just let Gerard do what he’d wanted? Because it wouldn’t be the same if Gerard woke up in the morning and didn’t remember? 

Frank cleaned up the mess his friends left behind and glanced at the clock. It was three in the morning and he wasn’t even tired. What he was, was worried. 

He knew how Gerard got after drinking. He got funny, he got stupid, he got mean, he got violent, he got depressed…

By now, Gerard would be coming down off of his high and would be tearing himself apart for whatever he had done…if he remembered. Usually, Gerard remembered if he didn’t black out.

Frank grabbed his phone and stared at it for a moment before deciding to just go ahead and call. It wouldn’t hurt anything, and the worse that could happen would be Gerard not answering.

Which was exactly what happened.

Frank tossed away his phone after leaving a ridiculous message that made him sound like a completely obsessive push-over. 

It wasn’t a good thing when Gerard got depressed, whether alcohol was involved or not. He thought up dangerous things, came up with even more reasons to destroy himself, and it just went downhill from there. 

Gerard wasn’t normally the type to sit around, tear himself down, and then hurt himself…but what if that all changed? What if he was really upset with himself this time and decided to do something to make sure he never hurt anyone again?

Frank didn’t want to think about it.

Instead, he began to worry that Gerard didn’t make it home. He’d been so drunk… what if he’d staggered off and got jumped by someone? Or what if he just passed out on the sidewalk? What if he’d gotten arrested? What if…

Frank shook the thoughts away and a laughed quietly to himself as he rubbed at his bruised cheek and sore eye. Here he was—black eye, scuffed cheek, and recovering bloody nose—worrying about the wellbeing of the man who’d attacked him. He was supposed to be pissed off, right? He should’ve been throwing things around, calling someone to complain about it to, not sitting on the couch starting to panic.

He was supposed to be angry! 

The thought just made him laugh. 

Be angry? At Gerard? _Really_ angry? If you got mad at Gerard for something he already felt bad about, he’d just give you that puppy dog stare with those muddy green eyes of his and suck on his bottom lip in anxiety until you forgave him. You couldn’t stay mad at Gerard unless you were immune to that stare…and Frank certainly was not.

He couldn’t be mad at Gerard, only at himself for what he had _let_ happen. The self-loathing gave way to a heavy sadness because he knew that Gerard was going to feel guilty.

Gee would be sitting in his apartment, head in his hands, distant expression on his face…his eyes would be completely clouded over with agony. 

Frank lay down on his couch and stared at the floor, trying not to think about where Gerard might be if he wasn’t at home and thinking only about how much he wished to kneel on the ground before wherever it was that Gee was sitting and wraps his arms around his shoulders—wishing to hold him and comfort him, to feel Gerard’s breath on his neck and to feel his chest swell and collapse with each breath.

That was how they would make up, by holding each other. Gerard would apologize for hitting him, and Frank would apologize for letting him. Gee would return the embrace, keeping it gentle and first and then pulling Frank closer. They would kiss, and the kiss would grow harder and deeper…Gerard would make it passionate…

Frank smiled at the thought and closed his eyes, intensifying the image and letting the idea of the sensation feel real. 

One of the best things about fighting was making up… 

( ) ( ) ( )

Gerard had listened to his phone ring twice before he’d finally fallen asleep, still huddled against his wall and feeling trapped in his own skin. Frank was trying to call him, probably trying to apologize for buying the alcohol, for not making him stop drinking, for saying or doing whatever he had done that caused him to get hit. 

Gerard didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear Frank apologize when he was the one who should be begging for forgiveness. He’d struck him and kicked him…All Frank did was invite some friends over for some drinks. 

The intense light beating him despite the covered windows was what woke Gerard several hours later. His head was pounding and he still felt nauseous, but he knew better than to think that he could hide in his house feeling sorry for himself and for Frank forever.

He reached for his phone where it lay before him on the floor and pulled it close, not knowing if he could bear to hear whatever messages Frankie had left him. There were four. 

Once from three in the morning, one at exactly twelve, one from one thirty, and one from two. 

Swallowing a bitter-tasting lump in his throat, Gerard played the voicemails, biting his bottom lip in anxiety. He was afraid of what Frank might say. What if he wasn’t apologizing? What if he’d had enough of it? What if he was mad? What if…he refused to accept an apology?

“Gee, it’s Frank.” A short, miniscule pause. “You already know that—uh, look. I’m not gonna lie about it, you really busted my face up, but I just want you to know that I don’t blame you, okay?” His voice sounded like a reassuring parent, telling his kid that it wasn’t in trouble for spilling a glass of milk. “So quit blaming yourself, alright? I don’t want you to do anything to yourself that I’m going to regret later. Get some sleep and call me back.” Gerard felt a small smile tug at his lips. Frank was being Frank. 

“I guess you’re asleep, Gerard, because if you’re just ignoring my calls you’re an ass. I’ll call you back at two, alright? That way you can sleep if…if that’s what you’re doing.” Gerard shook his bangs out of his eyes and moved on to the third message, pondering over the sadness in Frank’s voice that time. 

“Okay, I know I said I’d call at two, but I’m getting worried. You didn’t hurt yourself, did you? Did you make it home? _Call_ me.” Frank sounded so scared. Frank sounded worried when he should have sounded pissed off about getting his face pummeled.

The thought was enough to make Gerard’s microscopic grin disappear. 

“Gerard, I know you’re probably really hung-over right now, but I’m coming over to make sure you’re okay. I know you’re really mad at yourself, but don’t do anything stupid, okay? And…and if you’re not mad or you don’t remember last night that’s—that’s fine. Just let me in… I really want to see you.” Desperate. Frank sounded desperate.

In fact, Frank sounded like the guilty party—as if he’d beaten his lover and was desperately trying to track that lover down to beg for forgiveness. 

Gerard groaned and stared down at his phone. Frankie wasn’t supposed to feel that way. Gerard wasn’t worth the pain.

He glanced down at his shoes and sighed, but he barely had time to think things through again. All at once, his brain was being assault by a loud bang and his name was being called out. More of the excruciating light burst into the room, making Gerard realize for the first time that his door had never been locked, and then Frank was there.

Gerard barely even had time to recognize that it _was_ Frank before the small man had dropped onto the floor between his legs and threw his arms around his shoulders. Frank’s heart was beating so fast, like it was about to explode. Gerard could feel the heavy pulse in the arms around his neck and through the ribcage pressed against his own. And Frankie was breathing so heavily and so raggedly.

It took Gerard a moment to remember how to lift his arms and hug back. Still holding his phone in one hand, Gerard encircled his love’s torso, his free hand resting on the back of Frankie’s head and pulling it closer. He nuzzled the hair that was tucked behind one of Frank’s ears gently, closing his eyes lightly and relishing the touch before remembering why it was there.

Knowing better than to try to force a space between their bodies, Gerard tricked Frank into revealing his bruised face. He started with a soft kiss to the top of one ear, then a firmer kiss on the cheek that was shrouded with dark hair. Frank, too caught up in their reunion, didn’t think twice before turning his face away from Gerard’s collarbone to accept a gentle kiss on the mouth. He didn’t even try to swat away the hand that pulled away from the embrace to push the strands of hair from his face. 

His face, the visible half once looking so peaceful and relieved, suddenly widened in alarm as his messy bangs were brushed out of the way. Frank freed one of his hands from the embrace and grabbed Gerard’s, trying to pull it away so his bruises would stay out of sight. 

Frank didn’t fight much, not when Gerard was looking at him with heartbroken eyes. He took one look at the sadness and then cast his eyes downward, dropping his hand and letting Gerard see what he’d done.

“It’s not so bad, Gee,” Frank said softly. Gerard’s shoulders drooped even lower as he looked at the red and purple, swollen splotches. His cheekbone had a scrape of red encased with faded brown and a deep violet that stretched up one side of his nose and then vanished. “I mean…it looks bad, but it doesn’t hurt much.”

Gerard let his hand and his gaze drop, a curtain of hair covering most of Frank’s bruises again. Frank sighed and then pulled away, leaning back and sitting on his feet with Gerard’s legs still on either side of him.

“Are you going to talk to me?” Frank asked. Gerard looked back up at him with muddy eyes that said enough. The eyes said he was sorry, the eyes begged for forgiveness, the eyes showed repentance…

Frank leaned forward again, kissing Gerard on the corner on his mouth and then brushing their cheeks together gently.

“Ray’s going to kill you when he sees,” Frank whispered playfully in Gerard’s ear, even though he didn’t really feel like joking. It was worth it to try to coax Gerard out of his self-created shell, but it didn’t work. 

Gerard still said nothing and Frank pulled his face back again, meeting Gerard’s gaze and beginning to feel sad instead of the relief he’d felt before.

“Come on, Gee,” Frank said exhaustedly. “Say something.” Gerard looked away from Frank’s insistent eyes for a moment, glancing instead at his slowing chest. After running through the city, Frank was finally catching his breath. 

Frank attempted to steal another kiss, but stopped when he felt a hand press on his stomach. He looked down at the hand and then back to Gerard’s face which still looked troubled and agonized. Frank grabbed the wrist gently, still keeping his gaze locked with Gerard’s and pushed the hand lower, not stopping until it had passed the waistband of his jeans.

It wasn’t very subtle, but it successfully made Gerard’s face change expressions. He glanced down at the new location of his hand and flushed slightly. 

“Frank,” he finally said with some embarrassment, making the other man smile. “Now?” He asked, a small laugh accompanying his words. 

That was so…Frank. Problem? What problem? Are we fighting? Let’s make up.

Frank leaned forward and kissed Gerard on the lips, simultaneously pressing against the hand he’d resituated. Almost instantly, it was pulled away.

“No,” Gerard protested, despite the lips that kept trying to recapture his. He turned his face away, but Frank still pursued him, only giving in when Gerard blocked his mouth with his wrist. “I hit you,” Gerard said, trying to pull away from Frank but finding it hard with his back against the wall. “Why are you here?” Frank finally leaned backwards, waiting until Gerard dropped his arm and looked at him before answering.

“I was afraid you were going to do something to yourself,” Frank said, looking serious for a moment. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Gerard answered, looking away from Frank’s eyes. Frank leaned forward again, wrapping his arms around Gerard’s shoulders and resting the undamaged side of his face on Gerard’s collarbone.

Gerard moved his arms to gently encircle Frank’s waist, hardly noticing until it was too late that the smaller man had been shifting closer and leaning on him more and more heavily. By the time he did notice, Frank had seemingly gone to sleep. His arms had dropped and come to a rest on Gerard’s chest, and he was no longer kneeling but _lying_ on floor between Gerard’s feet.

Gerard held Frank a little tighter and nuzzled the top of his head softly. 

He’d bruised Frank’s face and even kicked him in the stomach, yet there he was—sleeping on Gerard’s chest as if nothing ever happened. But that was so Frank. Problem? What problem? Let’s make up.

Let’s make up…

Gerard lifted his head in realization. 

Let’s make up… Make up… 

Makeup. A cover-up.

He’d gotten drunk; he’d hit Frank.

Frank had _gotten_ him drunk; Frank had _let_ himself get hit. 

Being hit would cause a fight, and they both knew they couldn’t live without each other. A fight meant they would make up, and making up meant attention. It meant Frank could be held for as long as he’d like, kissed as many times as he could bear, and lounge in Gerard’s presence until all of his needs were met.

Gerard had never felt more betrayed. For the sake a few dozen kisses, Frank had single-handedly shattered his heart. He’d been sitting at home, loathing himself for what he’d been set up to do. Gerard didn’t want to hit someone he loved so much, and he didn’t one the one person he trusted above all others to coax him into it. 

He didn’t want to be turned into some sort of beast.

Until the bruises were gone, the others—Ray and Mikey—they would be looking at him with disgust. Like he was just another drunken abuser, beating the ones who loved him and blaming it on the beer.

After all, it wasn’t like they’d believe him if he said it was because of Frank. All he ever asked for was attention.


End file.
